


Roche Limit

by casdere (kancake)



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: AU, Alien!Newt, Kaiju!Newt, M/M, Other, also pairings are put under other b/c alien gender is complicated, always been a kaiju!newt, but not overtly complicated, destruction of alarm clocks, etc - Freeform, is more accurate, more characters might be added b/c i don't know what i'm doing rn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:15:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1237864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kancake/pseuds/casdere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann Gottlieb, 24 years old, home residence Cambridge (the one in America, of course the bloody one in America), professor of nuclear science and engineering at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, was currently standing in the middle of his living room, clutching his his phone in one hand and his cane in the other, feeling like he'd quite like to sit down for a bit, but just moments before he'd made the decision to drag the unconscious (dead?) body of a... <i>monster</i> into his home, where it was currently sprawled across his living room carpet making it so that Hermann would have to step over the beast to get to a seat. And that was not going to happen.</p><p>or: newt is an alien who crash lands in hermann's backyard and literally no one knows what to do.</p><p>//DISCONTINUED//</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've made a lot of mistakes in my days but this one is truly impressive
> 
> based off of tumblr user sunburntmerman's au idea i'm too lazy to find right now

It was the perfect plan. Well, okay, until it wasn't, he guesses, but that wasn't that important, because he also had the perfect Plan B. Probably? Well, it's not like there was any going back, anyway, all or nothing now.

He arched his neck to look out the window of his getaway ship as the sounds of sirens and alarms started seeming rather distant. His hands flew over the glowing board in front of him without having to look at it - this, after all, was the part he was used to. The behind-the-scenes. The programming bit, he knew that easy. Somewhere in the hazy corners of his mind, he began to consider that he didn't exactly, well, know how to fly this thing. Or, more specifically, land it. But he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being. That wasn't important. What was important was losing the trail of the entire squad after him, and then choosing a planet he could hide out on. And then. Then landing on it.

He turned his eyes back to the control panel and pulled up a map of surrounding space, trying to plot out a course. After a while he plots something out that he's just mad enough to attempt, but probably no one else will be, and it leaves him (hopefully) on route to intersect with a planet in its orbit, roughly 93,000,000 miles from the larger star it circles. There wasn't much information on it, it was rather out of the way, and its inhabitants appeared to barely venture off the planet and had never made contact with any others. It was a _dream_. It was, well, it was perfect.

With that settled, he busies himself preparing for when he gets there, finding everything he might need, just in case. He takes special care to set the transformation device at the front of the ship, so he'd remember to _blend in_ , this time, wow. It was all going quite well. After a rocky start, at least Plan B was going off without a hitch.

Well, until it wasn't, because _right_ , landing, he should have read a guide or something when he had all that spare time floating through dangerous slum galaxies and asteroid belts, but he spent most of that time staring at everything, because if something was going to get him he was damn well going to see it coming, at least. He just overlooked death at his own hands - or stupidity, as the case may be.

He started frantically typing and pushing and pulling things because, yeah, that always works, that'll get him down safely. He definitely got a bunch of alarms blaring and lights flashing, that is for sure. He managed to slow the ship down a bit, at least, and aimed to crash on some flat ground. Which, hey, totally succeeded there, that was good.

As the dust settles, he tries to logically assess the situation. The crash was pretty bad, but the ship took most of the damage, he thinks. He's not losing a lot of blood, just a few scratches here and there. He carefully tries moving each of his limbs one at a time. Arm, arm, arm, arm, leg, leg, tail, neck, check, everything in working order. He wishes his head wasn't pounding, and maybe that it weren't so dark, because it's pitch black and that's a little freaky? He slowly blinks his second eyelids, seeing if there's dust to clear out of his eyes, but nothing changes. He waits for his pupils to dilate enough for vision, but again it looks like a no go. What a shitty planet, he decides, before carefully starting the business of extracting himself from what remains of his escape pod. The doors on the sides won't open, so he kicks open the ceiling hatch and suddenly something crumbly starts pouring into his little space, and he quickly digs through it to get to the surface.

Right, crashed, he buried himself a little there, that explains the lack of light. Right. Duh.

There's not much between him and surface from there, but as soon as he hits surface he regrets it, he regrets it in all _kinds_ of ways. He shuffles his face back into the ground, less crumbly and dark, more soft and green? But much, much less bright, oh wow, that is awful, hopefully whatever lives on this planet stays inside when it's this disgustingly bright and hot out.

All he can hear is the _ringing_ , like metal's still scrapping in his brain, and the light is only making this headache doubly worse, and he doesn't remember his first crash feeling this terrible. It takes him a while, a long while, before he registers another noise, and finally lifts his head, hissing and squinting passed the light, and there's someone there. Yelling, maybe? Everything's sort of foggy, it's hard to tell, maybe that is a normal volume. It sounds far away, though. He's pretty sure this is because of the crash, and not a weird thing about the atmosphere on this planet.

The... well, he doesn't want to assume, the whatever slash whomever that is, they're thin, but pretty tall, compared to some species, and they walk with a stick and, he thinks, maybe, a limp. He categorizes this as, probably, a deformity that is, while not uncommon judging by the well-designed walking stick, probably not a trait shared by the entire species. Whether it's a genetic anomaly or if the species just doesn't heal like his does is yet to be determined. He stores it away for further study because he's oddly _curious_ about it now. Curiosity, not surprisingly, is also not doing wonders for his cognitive functions, either.

The... human? He thinks that was the word he absently read in the report, although he's not in the best state for drawing conclusions, he'll take it. The human, who is maybe tall, and thin, and has an unfortunate mop of hair on the top of their head, is pacing, which is just as unfortunate, given it probably hurts to walk, given they are _limping_ , come on. They're also holding what looks like a communication device, but it doesn't really looking like they're using it. Maybe thinking of who to contact, he's not sure, but they're muttering/talking/maybe yelling at it.

As he tries to form a sentence, maybe a plea, but his throat feels weird and raw and just sort of wrong, it occurs to him that he can't understand what the human is saying and, therefore, probably they wouldn't understand him in turn. And he left all his equipment in the ship, of course, because he was thinking this planet was uncomfortably pitch dark and he'd just crashed and also he was scared, so. He lets his attempt at words dilute into a groan as he buries his face back into the yielding ground, and is starting to think that now that the rush is dying down, one of his legs might actually be a little broken after all? And it's trying to heal itself way too quickly for the position and pain he is in, and he'd like that to stop, ideally.

It's possible Plans A and B were not as clever and well thought out as he'd initially given himself credit for, he admits, right as he also decides the best course of action now is to let himself pass out from pain and deal with all of this later, if he's alive, or whatever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant to post on tuesdays so i would have a regular update schedule and feel more inclined to write, but then i went shopping on tuesday and i fucked up. i fucked up. i'm trash i'm so sorry anyone who actually wants to read this garbage.

Hermann Gottlieb, 24 years old, home residence Cambridge (the one in America, of course the bloody one in America), professor of nuclear science and engineering at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, was currently standing in the middle of his living room, clutching his his phone in one hand and his cane in the other, feeling like he'd quite like to sit down for a bit, but just moments before he'd made the decision to drag the unconscious (dead?) body of a... _monster_ into his home, where it was currently sprawled across his living room carpet making it so that Hermann would have to step over the beast to get to a seat. And that was not going to happen.

It occurred to the rather shaky professor only as the beast began to twitch awake that he probably should have gotten a weapon of some sort, in preparation. Well, firstly, he should have _called the police_ , what is _wrong_ with him, honestly. But he knew if he called the police they would take the creature away to... somewhere, he's not sure, but he just... he feels like he earned this. This thing crashed into his yard and he is, after all, first and foremost a man of _science_ , would he ever forgive himself if he didn't at least try to-

A loud groan erupted from the creature, and Hermann thinks briefly that perhaps he would have forgiven himself, after all. It lifts its head, squinting at the sunlight pouring through the window, before carefully angling its large green eyes away from direct sunlight to take in its surroundings. Hermann acts as though he weren't shaking as he holds on to his cane like, if attacked, perhaps wrapping the beast's shin will save him. It locks eyes with him and opens its mouth to reveal teeth and a sickly shade of blue nothing biological ought to be, before it starts making strange noises. It takes Hermann a moment to realize that the thing is speaking, not just spouting noises. Of course he doesn't understand the language but... well, he doesn't recognize the language. _He doesn't know the language_. Perhaps he wouldn't have forgiven himself, after all.

The thing sits up and Hermann takes a step back, but all it does is rub at its head and then start checking itself, probably for injuries, which is. Well, it certainly isn't very Godzilla-like. After it seems satisfied, spending a while checking its leg that had looked awfully mangled when Hermann dragged it in, but now seemed fine after all, it looked back at Hermann and made a clicking noise, reaching towards him with one of its four (four, this bears repeating) hands, and before he could think any better of it, Hermann whacked its knuckles. It pulls its hand back and gives Hermann an awful betrayed look he refuses to fall for, come now, before it makes a lower noise, more like a growl. This doesn't sit well for Hermann, but when the creature moves again and he thinks he's done for, it just starts scanning the house until its found the door to the back yard, and Hermann goes limping after it for fear it'll get itself seen.

It makes more upset noises at the sun, but shades its eyes with a hand as it makes its way to the wreckage of whatever it was it had landed in, pulling out a bunch of much too alien looking devices for Hermann's comfort, before he skulks back into Hermann's living room and starts setting things out and organizing them.

"O-oh no," Hermann tries to quip without losing his nerve, "don't think you're- you're setting up base camp in my house! You stop that, you bloody-" His doorbell gives a shrill ring and Hermann decides maybe now was the time to panic? No, no, now was the worst time to panic. The creature was looking curiously at the front door, and Hermann held out a finger like one would a dog, with a solid "stay," as he composed himself to answer the door. It makes an uninterpretable noise, but contents itself back to fiddling with its... whatever.

Hermann answers the door to a rather concerned looking Sara Beam, age 46, baker by occupation (and, unfortunately, pastime). "Yes, Mrs. Beam?" Hermann questions as politely and levelly as he can manage, given the circumstances.

"I-I saw... are you alright, dear?" She starts, pointing into the house and Hermann turns around quickly before realizing she was pointing in the general direction of the backyard, not at any giant alien beasts she could see.

"Quite fine," Hermann answers quickly.

"There was a crash, wasn't there? What was it?"

"It was nothing, just some metal. Space debris, you know, this sort of thing happens sometimes," he bluffs, "fortunately it missed my home and no one was harmed. I'll call someone to clear it out in a bit, I'd like a bit of time to... compose myself, you understand," he rambles on, hoping she attributes his nerves to his likely near death experience. It seemed to work as she nods and backs off.

"Of course, right. Take care of yourself, you know," she starts worriedly.

"Yes, yes, I know. I... thank you, Sara," he gives her a weak smile, hoping he could skip the whole 'you're so thin, and with your leg always in a state, you know you ought to stop by the shop sometime, I can make you something to eat' affair and go right to leaving him be.

It almost seemed to work, until she stops, staring blankly passed Hermann before, "do you have a guest?"

Though Hermann knows biologically his heart did not actually stop, he thinks it gave its best impersonation. "A-a-a guest? No, I," he stutters out, turning to see... a man. Rather unimpressive, overall, short, just a little thick, with wild hair and wearing nothing but some rather ratty looking trousers that look sort of... thrown together. He rubs his eyes, squinting at the door and making a few clumsy, unimpressed clicks in the back of his throat. "Right, yes, I do. Just an old... friend from, you know, college, visiting. In town." Sara looks as unimpressed with Hermann as the whatever-the-hell-that-is looks with the sun. "I'll see you, perhaps Monday, I'll stop by your shop," Hermann adds desperately, and the woman takes it, smiling brightly at him.

"Of course, introduce me to your... friend later, alright? At a better time, you know," she grants, before hopping down his walkway as he closed the door behind her and sunk to the floor.

"Alright, this is fine, I can handle this. There is what is probably an alien in my house, it was a reptilian beast until suddenly, it was not, and now it's a short man, okay, could be worse. My well-meaning but overbearing neighbour thinking I'm romantically involved with the man, I could do without, sure," he mumbles to himself, closing his eyes tightly and rubbing his temples. When he opens them again the... man, if he can call it that, really, fundamentally... the man is right in front of him, crouched down so he's at eye level. Hermann makes a rather unmanly noise, pushing himself closer against the door.

"You can handle this," he says, or rather, repeats in a squeaky voice, smiling brightly.

"Oh, _now_ you speak English!" Hermann huffs at him, and he does this rather unpleasant blinking thing with his second eyelids which is just, that just needs to not happen.

"I got my stuff," he clarifies eloquently, and Hermann groans, leaning his head back against the door. "My equipment, from my ship. I have a thing to help me blend in with any species, and a translation device, and, y'know, other junk but. That's what was mostly hugely important. I came prepared, believe it or not."

"This cannot be happening," Hermann groans, thinking about the alien creature in his house, and how it looks human and speaks English with an American accent, and a squeaky voice, and uses words like _things_ and _stuff_ , and mostly, that this cannot be happening. The man-thing stands up in front of him, stretching and looking like he's getting a general feel for this body. "Alright, there are words to be had here, I believe," he finally decides, and the alien looks at him rather put out.

"That doesn't sound good," he pouts, and Hermann wonders if his life just became some sort of strange alien babysitting sitcom, because he's like to file a complaint to whomever's in charge.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so shitty at update days. it's still friday somewhere, probably. i guess general note you can find me on tumblr at cybercutiepie (i also have a newt rp blog you're not interested in) (it's punkbiologist) (tbh i'm just hyped about that url)

"So," the biological male starts irritably, while the "alien" flips through his book, sorting out what human genders work like, and what they consider "alien," which was a little vague. From another planet or another land mass? And the biological male had an accent not relative to the area, which seemed to imply he was from another country, so does that make him an alien? The book didn't offer any explanations for this, and honestly, mostly all the book had was "humans are rather weird," so, yeah, helpful. "What are you called?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but found his new and clumsy tongue had a hard time articulating his birth name, which, yeah, makes sense. Instead, he pauses a moment, flipping through his book, until he finds a list of famous people. The biological male does not look pleased with waiting, so he skims the pages quickly before picking one he likes best, and answering, "Newton."

There's a heavy pause, before the biological male lets out a loud, exasperated sigh. "Did you just take Isaac Newton's name?" He asks.

"Wait, is Newton his birth name or given name? How do your name structures work again," he mumbles, flipping back through his book.

"I'm asking for _your_ name!"

"Well, it's complicated, biologically, y'know. You can't really say it. I can't really say it, in this form, so I guess I need a new one, and I like this one," Newton says, feeling quite keen on the name.

"I will not be calling you _Newton_."

"You could call me Newt," he offers, watching with glee as the biological male's face twists into disgust. "What about you? What's your name? Also you use male pronouns, right, I don't wanna just guess so I figure I should ask, y'know, instead of slipping up-" he carries on before he's waved off.

"Hermann Gottlieb, Hermann is my given name and Gottlieb my family name. I'm a man... ah, and, um, yourself?" He questions, looking rather awkward, which leads Newt (he's getting more fond of the name by the moment) to believe this is not something regularly discussed.

"Uh, yeah, I guess male pronouns work for me," he mumbles, flipping back through his book again, "I mean, my gender social structure doesn't work really like yours? Which is, yeah, kinda a given, but I guess I feel comfortable with them just fine, and that's, uh, the body I'm in anyway? I think so, at least. Also, why are you so soft and squishy like this, this seems kind of faulty, I feel like a breeze will knock me over," he continues.

"Please, I beg of you, shut up," Hermann interrupts which Newt thinks is, wow, rude, but he lets it slide so he can lean back over his book and go back to reading while Hermann takes a minute to collect himself. He walks out of the room and Newt lets him because, well, it looks like life on other planets isn't a really well-known thing, it's more like a conspiracy theory, so he guesses the guy could use a minute or two. Only a moment later, he comes back out, this time holding a wad of fabrics in his hands, which he hands out to Newt. "Get dressed, please," he says after a stagnant moment of silence. Newt squints at him, then the clothes. "You're making me uncomfortable," Hermann adds, so Newt rolls his eyes and shifts clumsily to his feet, trying to correct himself as he realizes he doesn't have a tail.

He examines the articles individually before beginning his struggle into them. Thankfully, Hermann leaves the room again, instead of watching the pathetic attempts or, even worse, trying to help. After he manages them on and he rolls the pant-legs up, feeling rather put out that apparently it wasn't bad enough being short for his kind, but when transforming he was going to be short relative to whatever he was.

After a stretch of time without a peep from his impromptu surrogate, Newt stretches out in the dying sunlight, considering that at this very moment Hermann could be calling any number of government agencies about the alien in his house, but also he was thinking about how nice the sunlight was starting to feel and maybe this wasn't so bad after all? And that's what was mostly occupying his mind when he drifted off again.

This time he woke up to Hermann nudging him with his cane, and this time Newt made upset noises in something that was definitely not any language at all. After a moment he finally rolled over, eyeing his books and equipment that Hermann must have carefully organized and set on a low table in the room. He thought that was pretty nice before Hermann jabbed him in the ribs again.

"Okay, wow, alright, I'm up, cut it out with that thing," he groaned, sitting up and rubbing at his ribs.

"Did you think our talk was over?" Hermann raises his eyebrows and Newt thinks briefly he might have preferred it when the man was a little afraid of him.

"Course not," he mumbles back instead, rubbing his face. The guy did let him sleep for a while, after all, he was trying to be courteous, but he was harbouring a stranger in his house, after all. "Alright, shoot."

"Where are you from?" He starts off and, yeah, should have seen that coming.

"Far, far awa-" he starts joking, but Hermann's having none of it.

"Why are you here? What exactly are you? How do you look like that now? How did it change your actual mass? What did you get here in? How many more are there like you?" He carries on, not even waiting for an answer, and Newt just stares at him while he waits for it to wind down. Finally, Hermann takes a breath, and Newt jumps in.

"I'm from a galaxy that isn't this one, I'm here because I can't be there, I'm called a kaiju, technology, alien technology, an escape pod I don't actually know how to fly, and depends on what you mean by like me."

Newt watches as Hermann pieces it all together, figuring out what was an answer to what question, before his face scrunches up and Newt prepares himself for a rant on how vague he'd been. Instead, he gets, "did you just say kaiju?"

"Um, yeah?" Newt answers, glad he guesses that Hermann isn't demanding details on the whole escape pod and not being able to be where he's from and all that.

"That's Japanese," Hermann squints at him like this is the most suspicious thing that's happened so far. Newt shrugs, searching his memory for "Japanese," classifying it as another language spoken on this planet.

"What can I say? Sometimes languages overlap."

The man takes this information in for a moment, before nodding. "Why did you have to escape from your home?"

Newt groans loudly, flopping back down on the floor with a, "do we _have_ to?"

"Well," Hermann sighs, "are you a fugitive?"

"Uh... how exactly would you define-"

"Right, alright, I don't want to know."

"Good," Newt sighs in relief, stretching on the floor and looking like he's ready to settle in back to sleep.

"We will discuss it," Hermann adds after a moment, "just not now. Not today. I think we've gotten just about as much out of today as anyone needs from any day."

"Agreed," Newt half purrs, prompting Hermann to roll his eyes at the ridiculous creature he'd apparently adopted, which just gets a small rumbly laugh out of said creature.

"Alright, get up then," he started, pausing to listen to a second of the upset-but-gibberish protests thrown his way, "you won't be sleeping on the living room floor, I'll make you up a bed in the guest room," he continues, but to no avail as Newt continues making indistinguishable pouting noises. After a while he gives up and leaves to make up the bed, probably, leaving his alien charge to drift off on the floor before being, again, forcibly woken and practically dragged to the guest room.

Once Newt was properly situated on his new bed he decides maybe he shouldn't have put up quite so much of a fight getting there. It was actually pretty nice, and if he opened the curtains he could still catch the moonlight shining in and, hopefully in the morning, more of the nice warm sunlight.

(By morning, he would realize the terrible mistake he's made.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still friday somewhere whoops
> 
> idk how the next few weeks will go with updates b/c my father and i are going to start cleaning/packing for when we both move sometime over summer but i will try my sort of best. relative best.

Hermann was a creature of habit, and so just around 5:58am he found himself in a vague state of half-conciousness, feeling a lot of feelings he was used to feeling, such as: a twinge in his leg, the dread of knowing his alarm would go off any minute but not yet being willing to get up anyway, the mental preparation of pulling himself out of bed once his alarm actually has gone off, etc.. He was also feeling something rather unfamiliar to his morning routine, that is, a feeling like a rock at the bottom of his stomach, and the impression that he was being watched. He decided not to open his eyes to find out, which seemed like a good idea at the time.

He could hear the distant ticking of his clock and tried to brace himself so he wouldn't flinch when his alarm went off. He was half-successful.

That is, he didn't flinch when his alarm let out a shrill _beeep_ , but he did when the singular noise was followed by an even shriller scream and a loud smash. Flinching, perhaps, was too light of a term, the end result had him on the floor of his bedroom, the adrenaline rush kicking in just as he realized once it wore off his leg was going to be in a very awful state. After he got his breathing under control, he met his eyes with a pair of wide, green, rather guilty looking ones in turn. "I-i-i-i-" the alien stammered, not tearing his eyes away from Hermann's as he clearly panicked.

"Right," Hermann sighed, rubbing his temples and his brain catalogued alien encounter as, actually, not a strange fever dream indictive of his need to switch tea brands. Which was... well. Yes.

"It scared me," the alien, 'Newton,' starts, looking for all the world like he's being scolded already, "I didn't know what it was and then it started screeching and I thought maybe it was actually some kind of thing I wasn't supposed to touch, because it set off an alarm, and I'm sorry I touched it and uh, also, broke it. I, uh, I woke up because of the sun," he makes a face like he's remembering an old trauma, "and I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, and I was wandering around, and I," he heaves in a breath and Hermann jumps in.

"It's fine, it was just an alarm clock, to wake me up. I can purchase another. Please refrain from breaking any of my other things and, for that matter, watching me sleep, as well. That's considered rather creepy here," he adds for good measure, and Newton nods enthusiastically.

"Can do!! I can do both those those things, in fact! Not break your stuff and not watch you sleep. Or enter your room without permission at all, even, I was just kind of nervous and, uh, yeah. Yeah, can do."

Hermann doesn't particularly believe him, but it's comforting in the short term so he settles for it. After a beat, Newton hops to his feet and holds his hands out to Hermann to... help him? It takes the professor a moment to realize what's happening, and another before he tentatively takes the proffered hands and lets the alien pull him to his feet. He barely has time to think of it before Newton's slipping the handle of his cane into his fingers and then takes a step back to look Hermann over, like he's admiring his handiwork, and then turns and high-tails it out of there, closing the door softly behind him. Hermann stands by his bed dumbfounded, weight supported by his cane, giving his brain time to catch up to everything else for a moment. That was certainly... something, he decides, before soon after deciding instead that he's not going to think about it. There are bigger issues at hand.

He heads to his kitchen to make himself something to eat before settling at his dining room table. It only takes a few moments before Newton twitchily finds his way to the table himself, eyeing Hermann's food but not saying anything about it. Hermann slides an English muffin with butter and jam towards Newton and watches the alien's face transform into some strange mix of glee and suspicion as he picks it up and sniffs it. Hermann politely waits for him to take a bite before, "yesterday, when I asked you how many more there were like you, you said it depended on what I meant. What did you mean by that?"

Newton makes a noise that's an unsettling mix of pleasure and annoyance, and it takes Hermann a moment to realize the pleasure is because he probably likes the English muffin. He takes another bite of it, chewing slowly as he squints out the window, then pausing to lick the jam from his lips, as Hermann waits patiently, determined to get an answer from him. "I mean, do you mean of my species, or do you mean... not yours?" He mumbles eventually, talking with around another mouthful of food despite initially eating to bide time. "Either way, heads up, the answer is more than you're probably ready to accept. I mean, there aren't as many kaiju as humans but there are definitely plenty of us."

"How many others are there? Species, I mean... er, intelligent species, that is?"

"Oh, plenty. They start getting messy, with mutations and what you define as separate species and what not, but, well, thousands, millions. It's a great big universe out there, you know?" He's eyeing the remains of Hermann's breakfast now and Hermann figures he's lost his appetite anyway and pushes his plate towards the alien and almost smiles when Newton looks like it's Christmas come early. He watches him carefully but eagerly try the new foods and apparently finds that he likes all of them.

"I wasn't sure about your eating habits, so I neglected to ask," Hermann says apologetically, "is there anything in particular you need?"

"Nn, I think it's fine if I eat whatever you have. Right now my anatomy is basically the same as yours," he says around the food.

"Then for lunch, I'll be sure to prepare you something as well," Hermann assures, and Newton ceases all movement to stare at him in awe and surprise, like he thought Hermann would be leaving him to fend for himself. Which he takes a bit offence to, thank you very much, he is an excellent host. Or, he can be, at least. After a brief moment of silence, Newton nods and goes back to the remains of Hermann's breakfast, this time a bit more delicately, and it just occurs to Hermann maybe the way to describe the way he was eating before would fall under "like it might be his last meal," and his stomach turns uneasily. It's not like he wants the alien to get comfortable or anything, but he doesn't really want him uncomfortable, either.

This is getting too complicated, he decides, standing up from the table and going to get dressed. Newton watches with big, fascinated green eyes as Hermann emerges from his room again, this time in a comfortable buttondown, vest, and slacks. He slowly blinks his second eyelids, and Hermann decides that now is a good a time as any for another talk, so he sits across from Newton, uncomfortable with which the intensity the alien observes him. "Don't do that," he states, and Newton snaps out of the trance he seemed to put himself in to breifly shocked, then scared, then finally settling on hurt, despite not knowing what was going on. "With your eyes. Human's don't have second eyelids, so you can't let anyone see that. Also, because it's honestly kind of creepy." Newton takes it upon himself to be fully hurt, this time with his entire body, quite theatrically. Hermann waits patiently for him to stop making noises before levelling him with his best that's-final look. Newton huffs but accepts his fate.

"Alright fine, I don't see why I can't do it around you but, _whatever_ ," he reaches up to rub at his eyes, looking dissatisfied with the results, but not saying anything else on the matter.

"And, hm, what are your intentions? While on Earth, I mean, what are you doing?"

"Uh," Newton stares blankly at him and, much to Hermann's chagrin, blinks his second eyelids. "Nothing, really? Just kinda... camping out. Laying low. See some sights. Hope for the best."

"I know we went over how I don't want to know, but I want to reiterate that I don't know what you're doing here, and I'd like you to put yourself in my place. Please take pity on my nerves."

"I promise I'm not a bad guy, but I get you. I'll do minimal intense observation of national monuments and almost no questioning about your government and military."

"Appreciated," Hermann mumbles, rubbing his temples. "I have work tomorrow, so I'm going to leave you here. Can I trust you to stay in the house and not destroy anything?"

"Almost nothing," Newton assures with a cocky little smirk Hermann already cannot stand. "And as you may have guessed, I don't have the best sense of direction, so it's probably in everyone's best interest that I stay indoors without an escort." Hermann opens his mouth to add something, but Newton waves him off quickly, "and I won't answer the door, or try to cook, or whatever."

"You are uncomfortably accustomed to and ready for this," Hermann notes, eyeing the man at his kitchen table, who only offers a shrug in response. "I suppose it would be wise for me to teach you about our culture?"

"It's cool, I can read it up, I've got most of it down, y'know," Newton waves off, and Hermann raises his eyebrows.

"Ah, and that went rather well for my alarm clock, wouldn't you say?"

"Aw, what, low blow," Newton huffs back, crossing his arms and everything. Hermann just gives him a challenging look until, finally, the alien concedes with, "yeah, maybe the book can't really teach me everything. I can get most of your cultural values and laws, though, which is the important stuff, right?"

"While it is rather important that you don't break any laws, I also don't want you causing any public scenes, or destroying any more of my property."

"That's fair, yeah, I see where you're coming from with that one. So first, teach me how to clean these," he holds up one of the plates their breakfast had been on and, although that was not where Hermann had been planning on starting, he figures since Newton is asking, anyway. So he stands up and heads back to the kitchen and spends a good chunk of time teaching Newton to rinse dishes and put them in the dishwasher, then how the dishwasher worked, which led to Newton asking about other things in the kitchen, leading to the two of them spending the rest of the morning learning about the kitchen area.

Eventually Hermann started making lunch with Newton hovering over his shoulders and asking "what's that," every time Hermann added another ingredient, and Hermann explaining what it was called and where it was from, and every time Newton asked "what does it taste like," and every time Hermann assured him "you'll find out when you eat it," and Newton let out a little agitated huff of air right at the base of Hermann's neck, which he was started to get uncomfortably accustomed to.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who the fuck am i kidding i should just change the update day to saturday i literally didn't even know yesterday was friday i fucked up so bad
> 
> this chapter is really short and filler-esque and tbh i don't like it at all, but i just needed to get something done for newt's pov b/c i knew exactly what i wanted to do for hermann's chapter??? so sorry about this one whoops

Hermann keeps a close eye on him the next day. Newt thinks it's a little silly, given that there isn't really anywhere for him to go, and he thinks he's really been proving himself in the not-breaking-things front, too. He doesn't mention it to Hermann, though, instead choosing to let him observe. It's not all bad, really. He watches as Newt struggles to make pancakes, and offers little to no help, but when Newt calls it quits Hermann smiles at him and eats the dry pancakes with him. It's not all bad.

Newt spends a lot of time anxiously glancing out the window. He tries to keep it to himself, keep his glances confined to the times when Hermann looks away from him, but it's hard. He can't tell if he's hopeful or worried, but he really hopes it's the latter. It's far too early into this mess to start getting _homesick_.

"Newton," Newt snaps his attention back to Hermann, knowing full well how wide-eyed guilty he probably looks, and hoping Hermann doesn't think he's thinking of bolting or, worse yet, waiting. But Hermann's eyes start to soften and he gives the faintest of reassuring smiles, which Newt thinks is a rather odd expression on the man, and he's not a fan of the vague and faint tugging it stirs somewhere in him. "We need to talk about tomorrow," he finishes, and Newt collapses to the floor groaning, already so, _so_ sick of this conversation.

"I'm not gonna do anything," he whines, watching with only mild glee at the way Hermann's face contorts at the word 'gonna.' "You gotta stop worrying. I'm just gonna stay in the house and do some research, maybe, _maybe_ use the _microwave_ , depending. I'm not gonna leave the house, I'm not gonna answer the door. If it makes you feel any better, I'll even leave all the lights out so it doesn't even _look_ like anyone's home. I'll be quiet as a mouse. I don't know what else I'll do, probably because I'll be so busy doing so little, flying so far under the radar," he pauses to heave in a breath, irritated with his measly lungs, but Hermann holds up a hand to stop him. Newt purses his lips, feeling rather put-out, he had quite a lot ready for that rant, actually.

"I wanted to make sure you know what to do in case of an emergency."

"Like, fire emergency? Because I think I can fight a measly fire."

Hermann huffs, but it sounds sort of fond, so Newt lets it slide. "Well, that, but also that if anything happens that you feel threatened by, if you don't think you can fix it, you can get out of the house. Go wherever you feel safest. I'm going to leave my cell number here, so you can call from the home phone. Tomorrow I'll pick you up a phone of your own, does that sound reasonable?"

Newt nods numbly, trying not to appear as shocked as he feels. Somehow put-your-well-being-before-that-of-my-house was one of the last things he'd been expecting. "Damn, Herms, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were worried about me," he teases, watching this time with unmitigated glee as Hermann's face transforms at the nickname.

"My mistake," he grumbles back, starting to sourly limp away. Newt can't help but laugh, but he makes a note to wake early the next day and make Hermann breakfast as a thank you.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter isn't that great either.... i think i might start just start writing shorter chapters in general starting now?? we'll see. i just need every alien/different time au to include someone so upset about american sexist, cissexist, etc culture. after this probably soon Real Things will happen (or as real as i get) (not very)

"Uncommonly sexual," Newton states, leaving Hermann sputtering, barely in through the door, key still in the lock.

"Excuse me?" he manages after a moment, and Newton finally looks away from the TV (which he's sitting unhealthily close to, Hermann notes) which appears to be playing a children's cartoon.

"You, I mean, not _you_ you, but like, your whole... humans, I mean. Humans seem to be uncommonly sexual, yeah?" Hermann takes a moment to examine the cartoon Newton is watching a little closer to verify it definitely is a children's cartoon. Newton follows his eyes and seems to realize the stem of the confusion. "Commercials, I meant. I mean, this too, it's for the young ones, yeah? It's still littered with innuendo, which is kind of, but specifically I was referring to the ads, they're overtly sexual. So, like, you're really comfortable with sexuality, I imagine, as a species. This is good to know, in reference."

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Hermann quickly assures before the alien can go getting any ideas, finally setting down his bag and making his way into the living room. He nudges Newton's shoulder with his cane and gestures to the sofa and waits until he's done rolling his eyes and making grumbling noises and has moved an agreeable distance from the TV before he continues. "There are many different, widely different cultures, and they all treat sex and sexuality different." He takes a moment to assess his life up until this point. Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, PhD, professor of mathematics, explaining sex culture to an alien he's only know three days, maximum. He couldn't have made this up if he'd tried.

"Okay, makes sense. My primary concern is this culture though, the one happening here," he makes an all-encompassing gesture Hermann takes to mean "America," which is... rather unfortunate.

"Yes... well, I'd still classify it as rather complicated. Are you hungry?"

"For information," Newton jokes to assure Hermann he will not be escaping the conversation, but nods and follows Hermann towards the kitchen. "Alright, so, start with the basics."

Hermann sighs, gathering ingredients for soup. "Well, while sexually aggressive messages are rather commonly used in media and to sell products, it has a different stigma in real life."

"Just to clarify, that's ridiculous and should not be that way," Newton interrupts, and Hermann doesn't have a comeback.

"Being overtly sexual in appearance is often pedestalled for women, but being sexual in nature is viewed negatively for them. Men are often expected to be sexual in nature, and are praised for bragging about their sexual exploits," he continues, wishing this wasn't his life.

"Okay, yeah, wait, stop. I regret this, I regret this a lot, oh my God I should have stayed ignorant. Please stop, that is garbage, that is so fucked up," Newton half-screams in protest.

"It only gets worse, I assure you."

"Oh my God, this is such a fucked up planet," Newton groans.

"Sexualities that stray from the heterosexual norm are a completely different story," Hermann adds.

"Oh God, stop, stop with this patriarchal rigid gender normative bullshit, what the fuck," Newton begs, and Hermann can't help but laugh a little. Newton gives him a sour look, and Hermann quickly rights himself.

"It's rather comforting to know the entire universe isn't structured this way, I suppose."

"This is such garbage, holy shit," Newton grumbles, slinking back into the living room and turning off the TV in favour of reading more of the books he had with him. Hermann finishes the meal he started and brings it out to Newton in the living room, letting him eat at the coffee table (as a special occasion, an apology for culture, as it were). They eat in comfortable silence for a while, while Newton goes back and forth between eating and reading.

After Hermann's finished his meal he stands to put his dishes in the sink and go back to his bag. He can tell Newton is trying to appear disinterested, but is watching from the corner of his eye. "Newton," he starts, and the alien in question continues to try to appear like he was jarred from his reading, "as I said, I got you a phone," Hermann finishes, returning and handing Newton the phone. He appears to try to not snatch it from his hands to eagerly, turning it this way and that, giving it a solid once over. "Would you like me to teach you?"

"Please, Hermann, I think I can figure out your primitive technology all on my own," Newton rolls his eyes. Hermann considers reminding him of the alarm clock, but instead hands him instructions and watches Newton's eyes light up.

"Well, if you have any questions," he offers, but Newton is already engrossed in reading. He decides to leave it at that, but notes to discuss the internet as a concept with him sometime at a later date.


	7. sorry!!

hey guys, i'm calling it quits on this fic, and i didn't want to leave anyone hanging so i'm posting this so you have a solid explanation etc!!

i started to find it pretty hard to focus on this fic from pretty early on and in a lot of chapters i expressed not being satisfied with my writing for it, and i didn't feel comfortable with the pov i used, and i didn't do the right research for a few things, and yesterday i tried writing out chapter outlines to get myself to work on it, but i wound up losing it all when my computer crashed this morning etc etc. i think i should have started out writing one-shots for newmann so i got a solid feel for what worked best for me with them narratively and stuff, so i'll probably end up writing a few of those, and maybe try another multi-chapter fic at some other point when i feel more comfortable and stuff??? thank you for reading and being so supportive and i hope if you see any of the one-shots i'll probably end up trying you'll give them a read!! if you're interested in discussing anything with me (about this, or potential one shots, or whatever) you can contact me at cybercutiepie on tumblr. if you're interested in the plot and prompt, you can contact tumblr user sunburntmerman about it, if you want to try writing it yourself!! i've already talked to them and they're comfortable with people inquiring about it!

thank you for your understanding, and i'm sorry i couldn't stick with this project as well as i thought i could!


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